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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22471426">non-verbal communication</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/theloveofbees/pseuds/theloveofbees'>theloveofbees</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2019 Era (Phandom), Dan Howell/Phil Lester Comfort, Ficlet, Introspection, M/M, and i am incapable of writing anything that doesnt turn into introspection, idk why i wrote this i was just thinking about hands and i started crying</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 09:54:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>559</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22471426</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/theloveofbees/pseuds/theloveofbees</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>aka dan loves phil’s hands and eyes and maybe they have their own secret language.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dan Howell &amp; Phil Lester, Dan Howell/Phil Lester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>115</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>non-verbal communication</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i almost accidentally called this non-gerbil communication so enjoy that.<br/>also listen to non-verbal communication by tom rosenthal.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The first time Dan held Phil’s hand was in the back of a cab, hidden behind his backpack, as Phil accompanied him to the train station on his way back to Wokingham. It was one of those stereotypical hand holding moments – where the hands sort of migrate together across the cloth seats, as if a magnet was slowly pulling them together. They had done far more than hold hands during those first few days together, but there was something about reaching out in front of someone, even just one person, that made things feel more serious. Phil had hesitated, wanting to make it clear if this was okay, but when he looked at Dan every inhibition had disappeared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Over the years, they had held hands in a similar way on countless occasions. On the way to the airport. In the elevator after a meeting. At the back of a party. Right before stepping on to a red carpet. Right before stepping on stage. It was a way to ground themselves. To reassure that it was going to be alright. To be close, when they had to pretend to be apart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes it was quick. A clasp under the table, squeeze twice if something’s wrong. A knowing brush in public, you’re okay. Other times they left their hands entwined; when one of them had fallen asleep against the window or the other just needed to know they were there. Phil’s hands were soft, and strong. An instant feeling of home no matter where they were. A constant in a world that was always changing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The looks had also become a similar form of communication. From across any room, Dan could find Phil’s eyes. Their tricolour shade always seeking Dan’s deep brown ones. It was like they were meant to look at each other. Whenever Dan would look up, there they were.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mostly it was just a reassurance. I’m still here. Other times it was a message: Let’s get out of here. It’s fine. Are you sure? That person knows us. That person </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Okay. You’re ridiculous. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a language of hands and eyes. A way to communicate without speaking out loud. They had never talked about it really. It developed without a conscious decision. It was a dialect of necessity. Ten years of hiding in a glass box surrounded by people questioning at their every move, and needing some comfort in it all. Ten years of not being </span>
  <em>
    <span>able</span>
  </em>
  <span> to say it aloud most of the time, but needing to shout it in other ways. Ten years of people picking up on the cues, of beginning to understand what they meant. Of it becoming more obvious, and maybe that was okay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ten years, and it was no wonder people didn’t like going against them in board games. They didn’t have to read each other’s minds to know </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>what was going on. No matter where they were, no matter how far, no matter who was around, they were understood fully. The implicit feeling of being known and loved by someone in spite of it all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One day, standing outside a restaurant, waiting for a cab in an early summer evening, Dan reached out to grab Phil’s hand. He didn’t have to look up to know what Phil was thinking. He squeezed his hand twice. It’s okay. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>follow me on tumblr @ttlmt<br/>thank you to @luck-cat on tumblr for beta-ing!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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